


Dragon Wishes and Piecrust Promises

by wineandpencils



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Keith (Voltron), Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon-Typical Violence, Extremely Dubious Consent, Heavy Angst, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Lance (Voltron), Rape/Non-con Elements, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7901503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wineandpencils/pseuds/wineandpencils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shiro and Keith get their deepest desire. </p><p>And Lance?</p><p>He's slowly dying while no one notices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Yes. I've gone ahead and written yet another Voltron fic in the span of a few hours (or a first chapter in any case). Well, it's as they say: go big or go cry in a corner over all your failures.
> 
> (Not to pat myself on the back but I managed to type all these with 2nd degree burns on my left hand so yay!)
> 
> Please see the end notes for explanations of why I've included specific tags.
> 
> Comments and kudos always always appreciated!!

_The problem with diplomatic functions_ , Lance thinks a bit hysterically, _is that no one is prepared for dragons_.

He’s standing in the middle of a massive banquet hall with the rest of team Voltron milling about nearby, all looking as dazed and confused as he feels (except, Allura and strangely enough Coran, who looks to be in his element, flitting among the gathered guests with the sort of excitement he usually reserves for cooking and the walk-by hug attacks he’s so very fond of). The decoration in the hall are ridiculously ostentatious: precious stones line the numerous entrances and exits to the room; rich, velvety drapes made from some sort of white fabric that somehow don’t stain (Lance may or may not have spilled some juice on one) cover most of the walls, except for one that’s covered with white vines with blooming purple flowers that smell like honey of all things; the impressively high ceilings are lit by enormous chandeliers that are probably made from _actual_ crystal; even the dining tables, which stretch the length of the room, are gilted in what is either very convincing gold paint or gold itself. It should be an eyesore, what that many shiny things all in once space but somehow it makes the whole space feel light and spacious even with the sheer number of beings crowding the space. 

Lance feels suitably impressed by the whole thing, a fact that he keeps repeating to the Xalaa’taan currently standing before him for lack of anything else to say (xe keeps on insisting on touching Lance’s hair. It’s weird and not a little scary but Lance is trying to take it all in stride). He and the rest of team Voltron are tonight’s guests of honor, ostensibly for coming to aid the inhabitants in a battle against the Galra (help, it turned out, xe neither wanted nor needed). But really it’s because in the midst of the battle the planet’s equivalent to the Heir to the Whole Planet had been kidnapped by Zarkon’s forces without anyone else noticing. While the rest of the team had gone about helping the Xalaa’taans push back the Galra, Keith and Shiro had staged a two-man rescue operation into the heart of the main enemy ship, sustaining heavy damage to their Lions, before emerging with the mostly unscathed but terrifyingly pissed-off Princess. 

In short, the Xalaa’taans apparently really like it when you save xyr princess. 

Lance is just beginning to wonder when he can escape from the banquet when one of the King’s attendants rings a small bell. The gathered guests, who’ve all been milling around and socializing with each other, fall quiet and turn to face the King.

“Paladin-Leader Shiro and Paladin Keith,” the King booms, voice reverberating throughout the hall, black eyes unblinking. 

(The king is named Jake _._ Yes. _Jake._ When xe’d first been introduced Pidge had muttered something about parallel language developments between humans and the Xalaa’taan and shared evolutionary characteristics relating to mandible formation, but Lance had been justifiably distracted by the fact that _Jake_ and the other Xalaa’taans were _dragons_.

Legitimate, real dragons.

With wings and jaws and teeth and everything.

Fire-breathing not included—only because xe shot motherfucking _lightning bolts_ from xyr mouths when threatened.

Lance may or may not have peed a little when one of the Xalaa’taans showed him that nifty trick. Thankfully, he’s showered since then.)

“Your heroism today ensured that the greatest Xalaa’taan treasure did not perish at the hands of the Galra. It would have truly been a tragedy for the entire universe had our beloved been stolen away by these evil forces.” Lance raises an eyebrow at that. Saying the _entire_ universe would have suffered was probably overkill, but he got the gist of it. It would have been bad. 

“As thanks to you and the rest of your team, my people offer xyr aid in future battles against the Galra. Call on us in your time of need and we shall answer the call.”

All of the gathered Xalaa’taans bow their heads in silence for a moment. 

Jake continues, gesturing to Keith and Shiro with a long talon. “As a parent, however, I am particularly indebted to you both for saving my offspring. Among my people, such a great undertaking, particularly at risk to one’s own life, demands that I repay the debt I owe you.”   

After this proclamation, xe pauses significantly, as if waiting for a response.

Shiro, who’s standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Keith before the King, answers. “Thank you, Jake.” Yeah, they were on a first name basis with an actual _King._ Boo. Yah. “But there’s no debt to be repaid; your offer of help against Zarkon and the food and drink you’ve provided us with is more than enough.”

Jake stares at Shiro. “You would refuse my offer to repay the debt I owe you.”

The way xe says it sounds all kinds of threatening and has Lance freezing where he stands. Death at the talons of a twenty-foot tall dragon is _not_ how you imagined his night going. Nearby he sees Pidge finger their bayard, while Hunk puts down the leg of meat he’d been eating.

Shiro must feeling the same thing because he shares a look with Keith before quickly backtracking. “It’s not a refusal. As paladins, we believe in helping any who need it, regardless of whether it is personally beneficial to our livelihoods.”

“Your customs… prevent you from asking for gifts in exchange for your aid?”

“Correct,” Shiro says firmly. 

Jake seems truly baffled at the thought. “What if there is something you truly desire? Could you ask then?”

Keith speaks up. “Even if our culture allowed us to demand that you to repay the debt, we still wouldn’t know what to ask for.” 

“I see.” Jake mulls this over. Xe suddenly perks up.”Then, since your customs demand you not ask for payment and my culture demands that the debt be repaid, I will instead grant your deepest desire.” 

Shiro opens his mouth to say something but Keith elbows him violently in the ribs. He shuts his mouth.

Jake doesn’t seem to notice. “Unfortunately, it is beyond my power to remove Zarkon from existence—“ Lance chokes on his spit. _Wait, what? That was an_ option?? “—but it is within my purview to grant you both a desire that is just as powerful.”

Jake looks out over the crowd (Lance shivers when xyr eyes, black and bottomless, land on him for a moment). Xe bows his head and takes a breath. A faint ripple makes its way through the room, as if the air were disturbed by a gentle breeze. 

“It is done,” xe intones, his voice taking on a strange quality as if more than one person is speaking. Xe looks up and smiles.

Lance would like the record to note: he never _ever_ again wants to Jake smile. _Ever_. There are _teeth_ involved.

As if the matter is settled, Jake goes back to addressing the guests. “Let us give thanks to the Voltron paladins from Earth, and Queen Allura and Advisor Coran of the planet Altea.” He’s _still_ smiling. “Let us celebrate our defeat of the Galra and our honored guests tonight.”

The Xalaa’taans bow their heads in momentary silence once again, Lance and the rest of the team following suit. As though by some unspoken signal, everyone lifts their head as one and the festivities of the night pick up once more, food being passed around, voices rising in cheerful celebration, glasses clinking as drinks as shared. Allure steps aside to speak with Jake.

Lance breathes a sigh of relief that they’ve managed to avoid an intergalactic incident once again. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Allura gesturing to the team to gather together. 

“Paladin Lance.” It’s the Xalaa’taan from before, who’s name Lance has already forgotten, the one who keeps touching his hair. “I am most curious—“

“Sorry,” Lance interrupts unapologetically. He throws a thumb over his should to where the rest of the team is convening. “Paladin business. You know?” 

Without waiting for a response, he beats a hasty retreat to the rest of the team. When he arrives, it’s to find Keith staring at him, purple eyes unfathomable. 

“What?”

Keith huffs and looks away. “Nothing. Your face is stupid.”

“Paladins,” Allura begins before Lance can properly work himself up. He glares at Keith, who looks every inch the professional, instead of the opportunist he is. “Jake and the rest of the Xalaa’taans have offered to house us for the next two nights while repairs are being completed. We’re to stay in xyr main hall, which I’ve been assured is the safest place in the capital. I’m sure that none of you will do anything to change that.” She doesn’t have to include the _or else_. They all hear it loud and clear. 

“As for the gift Jake has bestowed upon Shiro and Keith,” her brow furrows. “I’m not sure I exactly understand the terms of the debt but Jake has assured me that he only hopes to give Shiro and Keith something they’ve always had.” She looks at the two paladins. “Any idea what he could mean?”

Shiro shakes his head. “Beside help us defeat Zarkon, I’m not sure what else it could be.”

“Kind of hard to say, especially since xe never asked Shiro or Keith what they wanted,” Pidge says. “The Xalaa’taans aren’t supposed to be a telepathic species but short of reading your mind, I’m not sure how else Jake could hope to know what you want.”

“Hmm, well, we’ll figure that out later then…” Allura smiles gently. “For now, enjoy yourselves. You all deserve it. When you’re ready to call it a night, just find an attendant.”

With that, Allura wanders off, stopping to speak with the Xalaa’taan princess who, it seemed, had been waiting for an audience. 

“Well,” Hunk says, new piece of meat in his hand. “I’m off to…” he gestures vaguely at the food table. 

“I wonder if any of the Xalaa’taans would be willing to let me study xyr wings,” Pidge mutters under their breath.

Lance is not an evil person by nature. But sometimes, things just line up too perfectly. “If you’re looking for a willing subject, there’s this Xalaa’taan over by the drinks that seemed really open to that kind of stuff.”

Pidge’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Lance turns around, scanning for the Xalaa’taan in question. He spots xem almost immediately. The flared nostrils are very distinctive. “Xe’s over there,” he says, pointing xem out. 

“This really perfect, I mean what are the odds that one of xem would be willing!” Pidge is back to talking to themself, weaving their way through the crowd to where the hair-petting Xalaa’taan stands. Lance snickers at the thought of xem getting a test of xyr own medicine.

Still chuckling, he turns back to Shiro and Keith. He shifts awkwardly. “So what are you two gonna do?”

Shiro and Keith share a look. They’ve been doing that a lot lately—sharing looks with each other as if they can read what the other wants to say just from looking in each other’s eyes. Lance might have put it off to a side effect of the team coming together and working through crises on a regular basis, except when he tried it with Hunk, all he’d gotten were a bunch of “????” and the quiet question of whether he needed to go to the bathroom.

(Also, he’d also seen them together, Shiro and Keith, after they’d managed to save Shiro from Zarkon’s clutches, the way they’d clutched at each other, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s air. They’d thought they were alone when they’d kissed, but Lance had doubled back to the hangar to grab his helmet. He’d backed out as quietly as he could. )

They’re very subtle about the whole thing—which, Lance was strangely proud of Keith for, because the man had not a single subtle bone in his body—the only sign that they’re together is in those moments when they walk into breakfast together or when Keith a little too close to Shiro, Shiro trailing is fingers along Keith’s in a brief touch—or moment like now, where they look at each other and a world of understanding passes between them.

It’s…weird, Lance thinks. Not because they’re an Alpha-Alpha couple (while not exactly common, it wasn’t rare to find Alpha-Alpha couples in the garrison, particularly since so many of the cadets were Alphas) but because they act like they’re _bonded_ , like he’s only ever seen Alpha-Omega couples act.

 _It’s weird because you’re jealous_ , a traitorous voice whispers.

He squirms. Okay, fine, he’s maybe found himself on occasion staring at Keith’s long fingers or the planes of Shiro’s back in a way that’s definitely not solely for aesthetic reasons. And maybe he’s thought about what it might be like to be held up by Shiro or pinned down by Keith—they’re _hot_ , okay? And Lance has eyes, he has two functioning eyes, all right? He knows that, together they’re even hot _ter_. He knows if either one of them even _looked_ at him with faint interest he’d be on that like milk on chocolate—but they won’t. Because Shiro is nothing if painfully earnest, Keith ridiculously loyal and Lance can tell they’re in it for as long as they can make it work. Lance is okay with the occasional fantasy because he’s happy that they found something real in the midst of the fight to save the universe. Even if things go south, they have each other and that, if nothing, brings a smile to Lance’s face.

Even if he can’t help the faint twinge in his chest when he sees them like this.

“We’re probably going to do what Allura suggested and enjoy the party,” Shiro says finally, tearing his gaze from Keith.

Lance can read between the lines. _We’re going on a date._ “Right,” he says. “I’m just gonna..” He grasps for an excuse. “…find Hunk then.”

“And do what?”Keith asks intensely.

Lance frowns in confusion. “Umm, eat food?” It’s the only answer the makes sense. It’s Hunk after all. “I’ll see you guys later then.” With that, he turns and walks off.

He hadn’t really planned on finding Hunk, but now that he thinks about it, it does sound like a good idea. He and Hunk always have a good time together at these kinds of events: hunk makes sure that Lance stays out of trouble and Lance charms alien recipes out of the cooks. They’re a great team together.

Except, no matter how many times he circle the room (god, why’d the Xalaa’taans have such a goddamn big building?) he can’t find Hunk; he literally runs into Coran on three separate occasions but somehow Hunk remains  elusive. Sighing, Lance gives up, migrating to one of the cloth covered walls, drink in hand; he’s quite happy to people watch until it’s time for bed. 

“Paladin Lance.”

Lance turns, a bit startled at how close the voice is. It’s Jake, staring at him with those unsettling black eyes.

“How are you enjoying tonight’s festivities?” xe asks politely.

“Oh, it’s great! I’m really impressed with the banquet hall. It’s really impressive.” Whelp, there went his only point of conversation for the night.

Jake inclined xyr head. “Indeed. The capital was built by some of our original founders with the intent that it last the test of time.”

“Cool.” 

An awkward silence falls.

“Paladin Lance, I must admit I’m curious. I have noticed that you are different from the other members of your team.”

Lance frowns, folding his arms across his chest. “What to you do mean?”

“You smell different.” Lance freezes. “We Xalaa’taans have a highly developed sense of smell in order to hunt for food. I could not help but notice that while Paladins Shiro, Keith, and Hunk have similar scents, and while Paladin Pidge shares a curious lack of scent with the Alteans, you are the only member of your team to smell…” xe trails off as if looking for the right word.

Lance unclenches his fists, forcing a laugh. “That’s because I’m an Omega; the other paladins, with the exception of Pidge are Alphas. Pidge is a beta.”

“What is an Omega? And how did you come to be the only Omega on your team? You must be a mighty warrior .”

Lance manages a weak smile. _I’m the only Omega because I’m the only Omega qualified to join the Garrison._ “An Omega is a human male that’s capable of giving birth.”

“All males of your species do not give birth?”

“No.”

“Most strange. All Xalaa’taans are capable of conceiving offspring. It is evolutionarily a wise adaptation.” Xe pauses. “Why then have you not—“

“King Jake.” Lance puts his glass down on a nearby ledge, giving the king his full attention. “I’m sure that your people do not find it strange to talk about these things but for humans, it’s extremely offensive to ask such questions.”

Another silence falls, this one charged.

Jake bows his head, gaze repentive. “I apologize if I have offended you.” He holds out a goblet (an honest to goodness goblet. Where did it even come from?) to Lance. “Here.”

It doesn’t occur to Lance to refuse; his sense of self-preservation has always been strong, even though he spends most of his time ignoring it. He takes the goblet. It’s in encrusted with stones and weighs a lot more than he thought it would, sitting solidly in his palm. Inside is a deep red liquid that sticks to the inside of the goblet when he swirls it around.

“Umm, thanks?” he says, confused.

Jake watches him with unblinking black eyes, as if waiting for something. It takes Lance a moment.

“Oh!” He glances down at the goblet. “You want me…to drink this?”

“Indeed.”

“Right.” Lance looks around frantically, hoping one of his team members is nearby, but he’s backed himself into a corner by avoiding the rest of the guests. Now, Jake stands before him, effectively blocking him from the rest of the room. He swallows. He’s learned his lesson the hard way, about consuming strong alien food before checking with Allura and Pidge. (It had resulted in painful sores on the roof of his mouth once that left him unable to eat until he spent some hours in the healing pod.) Something tells him that flat out refusing the drink won;t turn out well (offending a three-hundred foot tall dragon doesn’t seem like the best plan) but he doesn’t have the diplomacy skills to wriggle himself out of the situation.

“Your fellow paladins, Shiro and Keith, have already partook of the drink,” Jake offers, as if sensing Lance’s unease.

Lance frowns. He doesn’t get the sense that Jake is lying, but he’s still not comfortable. He looks back at the drink. It’s almost black if he tilts the goblet just so, the light of the room disappearing into it. 

“Right…” he repeats again. Realizing there’s no way out of the situation (and praying it doesn’t backfire), he brings the goblet to his lips. He expects the surface to be cold, but it’s instead pleasantly warms against his lips. He takes a tiny sip of the drink, holding it in his mouth for a few moments with the hope that he can somehow deceive Jake into thinking he’s drunk more than a sip. The drink is sweet, notes of anise and cinnamon coating Lance’s tongue. Swallowing dramatically, he brings the goblet away from his face, blinking down at it in surprise. A deep warm unfurls inside him, following the trail left by the small he’d drunk. Somehow, he knows that if he’d drank more, the warmth would be the same, no more or less intense. 

“It’s good, yes?” Jake asks.

Lance licks his lips. “Yeah, it is. What’s in it?” Maybe Hunk would like the recipe…

“It’s made from a plant here in the capital.” Jake gestures to a white vine covering the largest wall in the hall. Lance had noticed it earlier, thinking it was simply decoration; who knew it was actually used for something. “It’s called—“ Jake makes a weird noise that seems to be comprised entirely of consonants. Lance winces and takes a sip of the drink. He’d would have to tell Pidge to revise their theory about parallel language development. 

“Is it alcoholic?” he asks, curious. “It leaves me very… warm.”

Jake cocked his head to the side. “Alcoholic? What is that?” 

Lance thought for second how best to explain alcohol. _A poisonous liquid that humans consume in order to experience the effects of being poisoned._ “It’s a drink that reduces inhibitions, makes you happy.”

Jake’s wings twitch in excitement. (Why did Jake like _smiling_? It was really creepy.) “Yes! I think our drink and your alcoholic are very similar.” He peers down at Lance. “Then you are not bothered?”

“…No?”

“Wonderful.” Jake settles, a happy twinkle still in his eyes. “In that case, since you have finished, I shall return to meeting my guests.” He holds out a hand (claw? Paw?) for the goblet.

Lance is surprised to find that he’s drunk the entire thing while talking with Jake. The warmth of the drink has settled deep in his belly, somehow comforting. He hands the goblet over to Jake, who takes it with a small bow before turning and walking away.

Maybe it’s the drink, but Lance suddenly finds himself enjoying the night. The Xalaa’taans aren’t bad once he gets past the vicious teeth and spiked tails; most of them have a very dry sense of humor and seem genuinely interested in how weak human bodies are. As if by magic, he finds Hunk among the crowd and together they manage to sneak down to the kitchens and find the cook, who’s _extremely_ flattered when they shower xem with compliments (who knew dragons could blush?) and ends up stuffing them with sweets until they can barely move.

It isn’t long, however, before Pidge finds them (telling Lance with a confused pout that the Xalaa’taan from before had disappeared before they could convince xem to come onto the ship for more exact readings) and wrangles them back to the main floor, where one of the king’s attendants awaits.

Xe bows. “Paladin Hunk, Pidge, and Lance, if you would allow me to show you to your rooms.”

“Aww yeah!” Lance high fives Hunk as they follow the attendant. “Roomies!”

Pidge lets out a put upon sigh but can’t hide their smile. “How unfortunate.”

“Guys, guys, guys, I vote we raid the kitchens as soon as everyone goes to bed. I’m sure the chef wouldn’t mind, right Hunk?”

Hunk blushes a deep red. “We do kind of have to do work tomorrow—“

“Nooooo! Guys, we’ve got all night to ourselves. Who cares if we’re sleep deprived tomorrow—it’ll be just like it was in the Garrison. Late night escapades and secret rendezvous. Now, who’s with me?”

“Not me,” Hunk and Pidge say in unison.

Lance pouts. “Wow. Way to kill the fun.”

“I can’t wait to hit my bed,” Pidge says, speaking over Lance’s whining. 

The attendant suddenly halts in front of a door. “Paladin Lance, you will be spending the night in the East suite with Paladin-leader Shiro and Paladin Keith.”

Lance’s eyes bug out. “Wait, what? I thought I was rooming with them!” He gestures to Hunk and Pidge.

The attendant taps xyr talons together nervously. “As the hall currently hosts many guests, and as your queen is entitled to her own suite, the king thought this configuration was best suited for the night. Paladins Hunk and Pidge shall share the Southern suite with Advisor Coran.”

“Oh.” Lance looks at the door and then at his friends wistfully. “I guess I’ll see you guys in the morning…”

Hunk slaps him on the back. “Sure thing, Lance. Sleep tight!”

They don’t wait for him to enter the suite, simply continuing down the hallway until they disappear around the corner. Taking a breath, Lance opens the door. The room inside is insanely luxurious, in shades of deep blue and gold. There’s a mammoth-sized four-poster bed in the center of the room, with a ridiculous amount of pillows strewn across it. To the right, there’s a huge window that overlooks the nearby lake, with a low and wide couch beneath it. There’s a door on the opposite side of the room—it’s ajar and he can hear the sound of splashing water from inside. The bathroom.

Keith is currently standing in the middle of the room, frozen from where he’d been removing his jacket.

“Are you going to shut the door or just standing there all night?” He shrugs off the last of his jacket, draping it across the foot of the bed before sitting down to deal with his shoes.

Lance shuts the door. “So I guess we’re roommates tonight,”

“Duh.” Keith pulls off his first boot, moving on to the other.

Scratching the back of his head, Lance chuckles nervously. “Was it just me or did Jake, like, grow a couple feet everyone time you looked at him?”

“Just you.”

“Just you,” Lance mocks under his breath.

Just then, Shiro walks out of the bathroom, scrubbing a towel through his hair and— _wow_ , Lance will never get accustomed to seeing this dude’s chest and abs. He perks up at the sight of Lance. “Oh, Lance. Do you mind if Keith and I took the right side of the bed?”

Lance blinks. “Uh, yeah, no problem. I’ll just take the couch I guess.”

Shiro frowns. “Why? The bed is so big.”

“Oh, well, I thought…” Lance blushes. _Nope, not going there._ “Well, if you’re sure? I’ll take the left side?”

Shiro smiles and it’s so earnest that Lance feels himself melt a little. “Thanks.”

“I’m gonna shower,” Keith cuts in, stalking across the room, just short of slamming the door behind him. Lance bristles; he’d kinda been hoping to get into the shower before Keith because there’d be nothing more awkward than being the last to bed, having to climb between the sheets with Shiro and Keith already waiting for him, bodies warm and eyes soft…

Lance shakes his head to clear it. “I’m going to bed,” he announces just as abruptly.

Shiro looks up from where he’s rearranging Keith’s stuff on the couch. “Don’t you want to shower?”

“Nah. I’ll shower in the morning,” he says, already regretting it. Stripping off his jacket (which _he_ folds and puts on the couch like a proper person, not like a heathen. _Keith_ ) and kicking off his boots, he waffles for a moment before pulling off his pants too, leaving himself in plain black boxers and a soft undershirt. _It’ll be just like every other time we’ve had to sleep together_ , he says. The team has spent many a mission stranded on strange planets and slept in a number of strange configurations so technically it shouldn’t be weird but _it is_ because this is the first time they’ll be _in a bed._ _Together_.

It’s with these thoughts circling his head that Lance slides between the comforter and sheets and my God, if that isn’t the softest bed he’s ever lain in, it damn well is the most comfortable. Sighing in pleasure, he fluffs the pillow behind his head and shuts his eyes.

He doesn’t expect to fall asleep but between one breath and the next, he drifts off.

 

 

 

 

When he jolts awake three hours later,  he’s on _fire._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHY IS SMUT SO HARD TO WRITE.
> 
> Sex times and angst times to follow. I'm dearly sleep deprived so did not proof read as well as I probably could have. Please see tags for warnings about what's the come.

It's the pain that wakes him. 

He's dreaming about home. About the gentle waves that crash on the shore, the way the sunlight reflects off of crystal blue waters; about his mother’s cooking and his father’s noises of appreciation and their wide smiles when they break out in dance; the way his entire family can't keep quiet for one second and only get louder whenever one of them succeeds at something. He's dreaming about playing tag with his friends, about the way the pavement gets hot beneath the soles of his bare feet and the walls are cool under his fingertips and he's laughing laughing laughing—

The first jolt of pain is harsh enough that when he jolts awake, he thinks he’s been stabbed. His hands fly to his abdomen in panic but are met with smooth, unmarred flesh. He looks around, confused, the remnants of his dream clashing with reality. It's dim in the room, the only source of light coming from red crystals that have been placed around the room. He's curled on his side, facing away from the windows, with his head almost tucked under the covers, knees pressed to his chest. When he rolls over, he can see that it’s still dark outside, the three moons that orbited the planet still hanging in the sky. While he can’t really see much except their silhouettes, Lance can hear Shiro and Keith's quiet breaths. They’re curled around each other, Shiro on his back and Keith pressed along his side, arm thrown over his chest, bodies relaxed and unguarded.

Lance rubs sleep out of his eyes. Maybe he imagined the pain. His dream hadn’t been a dream so much as a memory: the game had eventually changed to a game of hide-and-seek and eight-year-old Lance had thought it a great idea to hide in one of the large trees in his neighbor’s yard. Except, instead of finding himself crowned the King of Hide-and-Seek, he’d instead fallen when one of the branches he’d been sitting on had cracked under his weight. The pain he’d felt upon waking had been similar. It was possible he’d just jumped ahead in the memory, his body remembering the pain of impact before the actual impact.

Except, not a second later, another jolt of pain lances through his stomach. Mother _fu_ —it feels like someone is slicing through his insides with a red hot blade, his insides tearing and twisting painfully. He’s curled up in the fetal position before he can consciously think it, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his eyes water. He must make some kind of sound because the bed shifts and theres an inquisitive noise behind him.

"Lance?" That's Shiro's voice, all warm and sleep mussed. Lance opens his mouth to respond but another sharp pain lances through him, this one faster than the last. He whines, fingers clenching around the bedsheets. 

The bed jostles as Shiro sits up in alarm. "Lance? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” A cool hand lands on his shoulder. Lance kind of wants to look at him, except he’s busy clutching his stomach, trying not to cry because it hurts. 

Oh God, it's _hurts_. 

"Shiro?” Oh, good, Keith’s awake now too, Lance thinks. “What’s happening?”

Shiro removes his hand. “I’m not sure, I think Lance is sick. Go get Allura and the rest of the team; we might need to take him to the healing pod.”

Lance doesn’t hear how Keith responds because there’s another wave of pain so intense that it leaves Lance writhing on the bed, his ears ringing. The taste of cooper explodes in his mouth and he can distantly feel something running down his chin. He’s bitten through his bottom lip.

When his hearing comes back in, it’s the sound of Keith cursing, frustration and not a little panic making his tone sharp. “—won’t budge. It’s too heavy to move—“

Another wave of pain and okay, something is seriously _wrong_. His abdomen suddenly goes numb; like complete numb. Lance can’t feel where his hands are pressing into his stomach anymore.

“Shiro,” he gasps. Shiro doesn’t hear him, Lance’s voice muffled by the pillow he’s shoved his face into. He turns his head. “Shiro,” he sobs. “Shiro, Keith, please—“

Both of the Alphas are beside him suddenly. Lance forces his eyes open, staring up at them desperately through his tears. Their faces are blurred but he can see the worry behind their eyes. Keith has the same look he had on his face that last time the Galra hurt one of the team, like he’ll burn the universe to the ground for revenge. Lance sucks in a shaky breath. 

"Are my--am I bleeding out? Can't-- I can't feel my stomach."

"No, no, you're fine." Keith rests a hand on his flank as if to reassure him and it's like a switch has been flipped because Lance can suddenly feel the way his stomach is trembling from the aftershocks of the pain.

Lance shuts his eyes. It’s a small mercy. ”Okay, okay." He's hyperventilating and he knows it, but he can't stop himself. There's no build-up to the pain, only the sudden shock of it, the feeling of his insides tearing open. He can't relax long enough to regulate his breathing. It’s making him dizzy. Nauseated.

"I'm gonna throw up," he gasps and he can feel the acid burning in his throat as the contents of his stomach threaten to crawl their way out of him. Shiro reacts, grabbing him around his midsection, bodily hauling him to the edge of the bed. Lance retches, nothing coming up. Keith removes his hand to get out of the way and _no no no no—_

And now he really is throwing up and welp. There goes last night’s food.

“ _Keith, put it back_ , _put your hand back_ ” he sobs in between bouts of vomiting. He doesn’t know why, but something tells him that he needs Keith to be touching him, just anywhere, just—

This time when the pain comes, Lance actually screams, legs scrambling against the bed and _oh god, he’s gonna pass out_ —

“—eith, get your hands back on hi—“

 He passes out.

 

 

__

 

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s out for, but when he comes to, he’s been manhandled into a seated position, legs bent and framed by a pair of long legs clad in black, his back resting against someone’s chest. It rises and falls steadily, the movement almost calming. _Shiro, then_ , he thinks fuzzily.  

“—can’t stay here. I can feel it coming on and it’s coming on faster than it ever has, and I know it’s the same for you. I think the best thing would be for you to take him back to—“ the voice breaks off.  “Lance?”

There are two warm hands cradling his face gently.  He blinks slowly, trying to focus his eyes. Keith is kneeling before him, worry sitting deeply between his brows. Lance makes an inquisitive noise. His throat feels raw from throwing up, his muscles aching from phantom pains but other than that he feels—he feels _loose_. He can barely hold his head up on his own, Keith’s hands (warm, so warm) the only thing keeping it from tipping forward. 

“How’s he look?” Shiro’s voice rumbles behind him, the vibrations traveling up through his lower back before settling at the nape of his neck and _wow_ , it feels like Shiro’s pinning him by his nape, holding him down _just right_. Lance feels himself respond, purring as he exhales, mind slipping into a warm syrup-like state. It’s _good._

Keith is still frowning at him. “I don’t think he’s totally here. His pupils are dilated. It doesn’t look like he’s in pain though. Lance? How are you feeling?”

Lance doesn’t want to talk. He’s quite happy right where he is, soft and warm and cuddled between two Alphas. He squirms back against Shiro, heat bubbling up somewhere in the pit of his stomach. 

Keith bends closer, one of his hands sliding around to cradle the base of Lance’s head. “Come on, dude. Give me something here. You gotta tell us how you’re doing.”

Lance pouts. _Fine._

 _“_ Maybe we shouldn’t push him—“ Shiro begins.

Lance lunges forward, lips pressing to Keith’s in a quick peck. 

Keith’s pupils expand sharply, leaving behind only a thin ring of purple. At any other time, Lance would probably have been fascinated by the response, but the air is suddenly thick with the scent of Alpha musk, slightly gingery with citrous notes that sit on Lance’s tastebuds when he inhales deeply. He squirms, the warmth in his stomach making him want to pull Keith in again, want to rub against Shiro’s leg. The warm scent of cardamom rises from behind him, welcoming and soothing. 

“Alpha,” he croons. He raises a heavy hand and pats Shiro’s knee. “Alpha.”

There’s a beat. “Fuck,” Shiro says.

“Fuck,” Keith echoes, voice faint. He swallows tightly. “Shiro. I-I think he’s imprinted.” He takes sharp breath, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. “Fuck,” he says more strongly. “ _Fuck_.”

“It’s going to be oka—” Shiro starts but Keith interrupts him.

“It’s _not_ going to be okay; he can’t fucking _consent_ with the way he is and neither can _we_ ,” Keith hisses. “He’s fucking pushed us into our ruts at the same time. How the _fuck_ can you think it’s going to be okay? Two Alphas and an Omega? We’re going to end up fighting over him before we get him anywhere near the ship. I’m already spiraling so fast that I can’t think about anything except for the fact that—“ he breaks off sharply.

“It’s going to be okay.” Shiro’s voice is firm as he tries to calm Keith, who’s trembling slightly. “It’s going to be okay. _Keith_. Look at me.” Keith opens his eyes and looks past Lance to Shiro, his expression desperate. “It is going to be _fine_ ,” Shiro repeats. “Let me just—“

And with that, Shiro’s sitting Lance forward, sliding out from behind him. No, wait, what are they—He makes a noise of disagreement in his throat but Shiro just shushes him. 

“I’m going to try the door since it looks like he’ll be okay without us touching him. Once I get it open, you’ll take him straight to the ship and get him in a healing pod.”

“Shiro, I can’t—“

“Yes, you can and you will. I’ll be right behind you with Allura and the rest of the team, okay? I’ll make sure we’re all fine.” He gently pushes Lance into Keith’s arms. Lance lets out a pleased noise as Keith guide his head into the crook of his neck, eyes going half-lidded, as the scent of ginger envelopes him. Except…

An image of the healing pod comes to the fore of his mind: isolated and alone, no one there. _His Alphas are planning to leave him._ The warm-syrupy feeling from before recedes sharply as a spike of panic shoots through him. 

“No,” he says, but the Alphas ignore him. Another spike of panic runs through him. It has him feeling a little more clear headed and he doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want the pain to come back, but his Alpha is leaving—

Shiro steps away from the bed, turning towards the door. 

T _error_ fills Lance, and he’s wailing. Shiro turns back in surprise, eyes darting around the room, looking for danger. Lance tries to crawl to Shiro—but he needs _Keith_ —he’s trying to hold on to Keith’s slack hand and get to Shiro but they’re both just standing there, frozen in shock—and it’s _pathetic_ , he’s pathetic—

The pain this time isn’t as intense as before but it comes as enough of a shock that Lance yelps, collapsing into himself. Shiro and Keith are on him immediately, hands everywhere, trying to soothe him and get him upright. They finally wrangle upright into a farce of their position from before, draped halfway across Shiro’s chest, head tucked into Keith’s neck while they both hold him, murmuring quiet words of comfort.  

Someone drags a hand through his hair in a soothing motion but the pain from before has dispelled the fog from his mind. Everything feels too sharp and crystalline, the small sliver of light seeping past the warm skin of Keith’s neck flaring whenever he blinks his eyes open. He feels all kinds of hungover, and the nausea is back, sitting at the base of his stomach, oily and slick. Keith and Shiro are arguing quietly, their voices vibrating through his body. He knows that, if he lets it, he could easily slip back into that strange mental space he’d been in earlier but he feels like he’s been yo-yoing between clarity and fogginess all night and the thought of everything melting away, only to come back—no. He’d rather remain clear headed. 

“So, let’s not do that again, yeah?” he says into Keith’s neck, trying to break the tension. 

Keith and Shiro go silent. Mustering up his energy, he draws his head back to look at Keith and Shiro. They—well, for one, they look _pissed_. Shiro’s mouth is a tight line, his nostrils flared; Keith’s brows are so low his eyes  almost look black in the light. They’re both breathing funnily, taking deep breaths only to hold them for long moments before exhaling sharply. Lance feels his own breathing slow to match theirs and it smells like a spice store, their Alpha musks blending and filling the room. It’s pungent and rich and there’s just the barest hint of honey threading through it all—Lance can’t help the way his mouth drops open at the scent, eyes going a little crossed. 

Shiro and Keith’s eyes zero in on his mouth. 

“Lance.” Wow, Shiro sounds like someone dumped glass on his vocal chords, his voice so guttural it’s essentially a growl. Shiro takes a moment to breathe. He tries again.

“Lance.” His voice sounds much more like his normal one. “I’m just going to be blunt because we really don’t have a lot of time. Keith and I are in rut.”

Lance flinches, his stomach swooping low. _Of course_ Shiro and Keith would go into rut for each other. And Lance is ruining everything, all because he needs them to continue touching—. 

“We’ve…imprinted on you.”

And that brings him up short because—because Alphas didn’t just _imprint_ on any Omega. When they’d last been on Earth, human science had yet to fully understand imprinting as a phenomenon but it was pretty widely understood that it didn’t just _happen_ —it took months and months of shared heats and ruts, of living with each other’s scents before Alpha-Omega couples imprinted on each other. Alpha-Alpha, or Omega-Omega couples didn’t imprint, their cycles always staggered for evolutionary reasons. But when an Alpha-Omega couple imprinted, it meant their rut and heat cycles matched up. Perfectly. It meant that ruts and heats—which were moderate inconveniences for most Alphas and Omegas and mostly about dealing with hormones and easily managed with medication—became barely controllable, lust-fueled activities, that sent Alpha aggression and Omega submission through the roof. Lance had never understood why anyone would want to do it, with the amount of work involved. 

The point is, it doesn’t just _happen._   Especially since—

Lance licks his lips. 

Especially since Lance doesn’t have heats. Can’t have heats.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “I don’t…I’m not in heat.”

“Lance, you smell like the inside of a fucking honeycomb,” Keith hisses. “You’re in heat, trust me.”

Shiro just looks confused. “Why do you think you’re not—?“ He shakes his head. “We need to focus. The problem is that we need to get you out of here. And we can’t. Not without hurting you.” His gaze flickers between Lance’s eyes. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Lance understands perfectly. He might goof off, but he’s not stupid by any means; he knows what Shiro is asking him. There’s no way they can get help without letting Lance go and if they do, Lance will most definitely pass out from the pain. And without them having a clear idea what’s afflicting Lance, Shiro and Keith can’t take the chance and leave him by himself long enough to get help. Even if they managed to get out the room, they had the just as large problem of two Alphas going into rut over the same Omega. No matter how in control they normally were during their ruts, once they’d imprinted ( _if_ they’d imprinted, though Lance was skeptical) on Lance, they’d be out of control. Lance swallows. It was likely they’d fight, possibly hard enough to maim the other. And then they’d be back to square one, except Lance would be passed out, one of them would be close to dead, and the other would—they’d, to him—

Lance’s mind shies away violently from the image.  

Which only left them with one option: Omegas _could_ calm two fighting Alphas long enough to make them work together. It had never worked for Lance because he’d never learned how to throw his pheromones around like that but if…if he really was in heat…

Shiro’s eyes search Lance’s. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, we won’t expect anything from you afterwards. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says quietly, confidently, like the leader that he is. Like he believes what he’s saying.

Lance has to work not to snarl. Because he _does_ have to do this. He understands the importance of the greater good, understands that having Voltron is more important than anything else, understands that Shiro _knows_ Lance is backed into a corner but still wants him to say _yes_ so he and Keith can feel _better_ about it. 

(And maybe it’s unforgiving of him, and not fair to Shiro and Keith and all they _would_ do if he said no, the lengths they would go, probably at their own expense, to save him if he says he can’t, that it’s too much, but he doesn’t _care._ )

If Lance _actually_ had a say in what was to happen, he’d say _no_ because he doesn’t want to (and panic is clawing up his throat now, _what the hell is he doing? He can’t, he can’t, he can’t—_ ) but he doesn’t. Have a choice.

Any choice involving death is no choice at all.

“Okay,” he says, voice sounding more sure than he feels. 

For a long minute no one does anything. 

“I, umm, I’m not wet though,” Lance says. Tries to sound cocky. Like he’s done this before. 

Shiro and Keith still don’t say anything. Shiro keeps staring at him, while Keith heavy-breathes on the back of his neck. It’s unnerving, having their attention on him.

Finally: “Do you trust us?” That’s Keith, even closer than before, and—is he _sniffing_ Lance? 

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation, because he does. Trusts them with his life. 

Long fingers wrap around the top of his arms, insistently pushing forward. Lance goes with it, leaning forward and shifting until he’s on his knees in Shiro’s lap, his own hands resting gently on the broad shoulders. This close, he can see how Shiro’s eyes aren’t the total gray he thought they were—they have tiny streaks of silver in them, fanning out from his iris like a halo. He breaks eye contact, looking back at Keith, who’s behind him again, straddling Shiro’s shins.

His voice trembles. “What are you doing?

Keith slowly trails a single finger down the nape of Lance’s neck, following his spine. “There’s a set of glands that Omegas have along their spine and the nape of their necks that promote relaxation and pleasure,” Keith narrates. Lance frowns. What?

“There’s a single set near the coccyx, however, meant to encourage docility and obedience. It helps to encourage Omegas into the state of mind they’d enter if they were in heat, helps their body prepare of sex with an Alpha in rut.”

Lance tenses, stomach going cold, because in all the years of Omega-Ed that he’s taken, he’s _never_ been told about those glands. He thinks about all those cases where Omegas claimed they were forced, when video evidence showed them begging for— _no, no, no, nononononono—_

Keith rests his palms on Lance’s lower back, right in the sliver between where his shirt’s rucked and the edge of his boxers, thumbs resting in the dimples above his buttocks—

“Wait,” Lance tries to say.

—sweeping them upward in one firm motion, and just like that, Lance is _gone_.

It’s like being yanked back into the warm-syrup fog from before, the sensation dizzying. He’s barely aware of his eyes rolling into the back of his head, the way his back arches under the touch. There’s a tugging sensation behind his stomach, as if something were winding up. A long moan bursts from his mouth as the first trickle of slick dampens his underwear.

“ _There_ we go,” Keith breathes. He repositions his thumbs and sweeps them upward again.

Lance’s body jerks, collapsing against Shiro. A glob of slick gushes out of him, running down the inside of his thighs. He can feel his hole clenching and relaxing rhythmically, in time with the tightening of the heat in his stomach.  

Keith keeps massaging the spot, while Shiro cradles him, making shushing noises whenever Lance whines, body trembling uncontrollably. Endorphins are flooding him to the point where he can’t think of anything except _Alpha_ , the way it makes him gush even more, an itch building deep inside him where he’s empty, the way it’s demanding that Lance _submit_ —

“ _Good_ , Omega,” Keith croons.

Lance presents before he can stop himself: he’s on his elbows, back arched, ass in the air, head down, forehead pressed to Shiro’s crotch and he’s gushing so much now it’s dripping down the inside of his legs, the thick musk of his Alphas filling the room— _Alpha, Alpha, Alpha_ —

“Fuck,” Keith breathes. His voice is reverent, like he’s seeing something holy.

And then there are fingers sliding plucking at the waistband of his boxer briefs, tugging them until they get stuck halfway down his thighs. 

“Would you like me to finger you open?” Keith asks, his voice smooth and seductive, whispering over Lance’s over-sensitized skin.

Lance can only whine, back arching some more. He needs—he needs—

Keith barely manages the tip of his finger before Lance is orgasming, his hole spasming around the digit, trying to suck it in. It’s not enough, not reaching the itch inside Lance but the feeling of something finally breaching him where he’s aching sends him over the edge. Keith lets out a short laugh, the sound full of wonder, before he’s easing in two fingers, barely searching before finding the entrance to Lance’s channel. He pumps his fingers in and out, bending over Lance and murmuring words like _so wet, just for us, dripping down my arm you’re so wet, gonna feel so good_. All Lance can do is keen, mouthing at Shiro’s cock through his sleep pants, Keith adding more fingers and stretching him. 

“Shiro,” Keith pants. “Do you mind if I…?”

There’s a rumbling noise from above Lance, Shiro almost purring. It must mean Shiro is okay with whatever Keith is asking because Keith hisses, “Yesss” and he’s tugging his fingers out of Lance. The air of the room feels cool against Lance’s hole, against his hot skin. The itch has increased and it has him wanting to squirm but he can’t, he to stay still for his Alphas. He needs to be filled—

Keith sinks in without preamble, a string of curses falling from his mouth. Lance can’t breathe. He’s presenting so hard his back _aches_ from the angle but its the only position that has him feeling a modicum of relief. It feels—it feels like too much, the short minutes Keith spent stretching him not enough to prepare him for the feel of something wider, something longer. 

Keith doesn’t give him a chance to adjust, just starts fucking into him, pace unfaltering. Every thrust of his sends lightning bolts of pleasure down Lance’s spine, where it collects deep in his belly, the intensity growing and growing. Lance is drooling, face rubbing up against Shiro’s cocks with every thrust of Keith’s hips. It’s so _good_ but it gets even better when Shiro’s hand ( _so warm, so warm_ ) slide up along his ribs, fanning out to rest along his hips, and he _presses_.

Lance is dimly aware of the fact that he’s screaming, his whole world narrowed down to the way his orgasm hits it, forcing him to clench down on Keith, his dick spurting the tiny amount of slick that Omegas produced. He’s sobbing, tears and snot running down his face, drool trailing down his chin, high-pitched whines escaping from his mouth. His legs twitch violently with each thrust, eyes rolling back in his head. It’s not pretty but _god_ , it’s what he needs and it’s soothing the itch inside him so _well_. It’s too much and his lungs won’t expand—and—and—and

When he comes down, Keith is still fucking him. He tries to breathe, tries to _think_ but it’s still impossible. Suddenly, Keith is fucking into him faster, hips moving relentlessly. “Come on, Omega,” he snarls between clenched teeth. “Lock down on me.”

Lance doesn’t know what that—he’s confused—he wants to give his Alpha what he wants but he doesn’t know what—

The first cramp catches him by surprise: it builds suddenly deep inside him in the place where the lighting pleasure from before had gathered. His limbs twitch as his channel tightens down on Shiro’s cock, the muscle corkscrewing around the hot length.

 “Wha—“

The second cramp is even more intense, this time deep in his womb, making his legs flail at the sensation. Lance lets out a wail of fear, eyes wide and terrified. He doesn’t know what this is and it’s too intense—he can’t tell if it’s good or painful—

The third cramp comes right on the back of the second. Lance breaks. “ _Alpha, Alpha, Alpha, please, help, Alpha_ —“

Keith curses as he tests their connection, moving as if to pull out, but Lance is sucking him in too well; making a pleased noise, he shoves himself in as deep as he can, his knot suddenly inflating—and _that_ hurts. Even in the fog, Lance can tell that something tore but he doesn’t care, too panicked to think clearly. 

A hand rests on his cheek and Shiro bends over him, blocking out the room.

“Shh, just let it happen. Doing so good.” He pets Lance’s sweaty hair. “Don’t fight it.”

As if wired to his voice, Lance’s body relaxes, all the tension releasing in time for the fourth wave. He can feel something hot and molten filling him. He lays there on the bed, glassy eyed and silent, letting Shiro’s voice wash over him. Keith presses his teeth to Lance’s neck, just a few centimeters shy of where’d he’d bite him if they were bonding. Instead, he turns his head and sucks a livid red spot on the back of Lance’s neck while he empties himself inside the Omega.

Lance doesn’t know how long how lays there but between one blink and the next, Keith is backing away from in between Lance’s legs, holding his softened cock at the base. Keith presses a hand to Lance’s lower back, urging him to arch further to hold the cum in.  “There we go,” he croons.

Lance is exhausted but the itch—it’s still there. He still wants. “Alpha,” he whines weakly, unable to move from where he is. 

Shiro seems to know what he wants because he shuffles around to the other side of Lance, long, skillful fingers tugging his underwear the rest of the way off his legs, hands griping his hips and pulling Lance onto his dick in one smooth motion. Even though he’s already been fucked raw by Keith, already taken his knot, Lance still feels every inch of Shiro as he presses into him. He’s not necessarily wider but he’s definitely longer because when he bottoms out, Lance can feel him nudging against his womb, getting at the last of the itch.  

He expects Shiro to start pounding into him like Keith but instead he continues to urge Lance upright until he’s leaning against him, back to chest, sitting in his lap. Sliding a hand up Lance’s chest, he cradles Lance throat in a loose grip, humming. Lance lets his head fall back onto Shiro’s shoulder, Adam’s apple pressing into the palm of Shiro’s hand. 

Shiro’s other hand gently taps Lance’s flank. “Come one, Omega. Ride me.”

Lance doesn’t think he has the energy, but the part of him that wants to please his Alphas has rising up and dropping down on Shiro’s dick, pace fast and uneven. Shiro clamps a hand on his hip, stopping him abruptly. 

“Slower. Slowly,” he rumbles, urging Lance upward with a patient hand. 

It’s like that that Shiro sets the pace, slow and unhurried, one hand cupping Lance’s neck, the other gently petting the Omega on his flank. Lance’s thighs are burning with the strain of holding his own weight but he couldn’t stop if he tried: his Alpha wants this. His vision swims. The gentle rocking sensation of their coupling lulls him, soothing the itch deep inside him, drawing his mind even more deeply into the abyss. Time—is it hours? Days?—passes. And Keith is there, hands sliding up under Lance’s sleeping shirt and petting him on his chest, fingers tweaking his nipples every so often before he leans over and takes Lance’s cocklet in his mouth, suckling at it. 

This time around, Lance’s orgasm builds slowly, a warm ocean wave that gently crests and disperses. Still, when he finds release, he almost blacks out, vision going gray and black spots swimming in front of his view. Shiro fucks him through it at the same unhurried pace, hissing as a mixture of slick and cum gushes out from where they’re connected, squelching obscenely. 

When the cramps start up , Lance relaxes even further into Shiro’s hold, letting his body milk the Alpha. Keith sits up, a small amount of clear Omega fluid trickling down his chin. He reaches over Lance and kisses Keith, the wet noise of their tongues, the quiet huffs of their breath sounding in Lance’s ear. This time, Lance doesn’t feel the pain of Shiro’s knotting, already too far gone to notice.

They collapse onto the bed like that: Shiro still knotted in Lance, hips jerking every few minutes as he continues to come, Keith on top of Lance. Shiro holds them both in his arms, Lance to his chest and cradled between the two Alphas. Dimly, Lance is aware of the fact that Keith is hard again, rutting against the back of his thigh, pawing at Shiro as if to urge him to hurry up so he can go again, but Lance is too tired to stay awake. 

Sleep calls to him and he drifts off.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've tagged this pic as "non-con" and "underage" for two reasons: one, Lance's age is never explicitly stated anywhere in the series, beyond he's in his teens. I've taken that to mean seventeen here, which, where I live, is considered to be underage. Thus, the underage tag. The "non-con" tag is, believe it or not, not only for Lance; rather it applies to Lance, Shiro and Keith. Why this is the case is revealed in later chapters but in short none of them can consent to what eventually happens. 
> 
> I'll be updating the tags as more things develop but I thought I'd include those two from the get-go so everyone know what they're getting in to.
> 
> Not beta read but I tried to scan for errors. Please tell me if there's any I missed!


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